


Inquisitor Trevelyan’s (not so) tragic backstory

by Cosmicak



Series: Viki Trevelyan and her magic left hand [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, My Inquisitor, Tags to change IG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26197969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmicak/pseuds/Cosmicak
Summary: Victoria “Viki” Trevelyan not only has an entire army at her command and all of Thedas relying on her, but also some ASTOUNDING daddy issues
Series: Viki Trevelyan and her magic left hand [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902502





	Inquisitor Trevelyan’s (not so) tragic backstory

**Author's Note:**

> My first dragon age fic! Will I write more? Who knows!

Victoria, Daughter of Bann Trevelyan and his wife Rhea, youngest of their 5 children. Her sisters having been married off and sent away, her oldest brother cast away to the circle for being bestowed with a gift their father sought to control, just as he had their mother. Her mother was a Tevinter mage at heart, but when she was sworn to Bann Trevelyan, he had her become tranquil, for this proud Ostwick chantry man would not allow a woman, even less a Vint mage, have anything over him. 

Then there was her brother bore before herself, Nicolas, A sun kissed man with a boyish smile and a heart of gold, unlike their parents, he never looked down on anyone for their social status, he treated her like siblings she read about in books, and how she loved him for it. He often could be found playing games with the common children in the streets. Until he was sent away to become a Templar per their fathers request. 

Victoria was 16 when Nicolas left, her tearful violet eyes never leaving his as he sat in the back of the wagon, his sad smile met her own, knowing this could be the last time they saw one another. Their father stood beside her, a strong hand on her shoulder, she was the sole Trevelyan child left within their home now. 

As the years passed, Victoria was primed and preened into a woman of nobility. Her mother’s ever stoic expression looking down at her as she practiced her posture, dull sunset eyes bore Into hers as Victoria practiced keeping eye contact, which she hated because it felt like her mother could see into her very soul, picking apart everything Victoria had ever known. When she reached 20, Victoria held the same grace and elegance as her mother, but still demanded respect and was just a wicked business woman and noblewoman as her father. Her brown black hair now pushed back with a hair piece, as opposed to the short mop she had as a child. Violet eyes sharp and observant, now seamlessly able to maintain eye contact. 

But she was not always the prim and proper heir her father raised her as. Victoria often spent her time in the Servants Quarters where the younger servants taught her how to take a man for all he has, how to have her slender fingers go unnoticed by noble eyes as they dipped into their pockets or over their most valuable. She often practiced on the daft suitors her father always had in their home, her bashful smiles and airy giggles giving her target a reason to underestimate her while she picked at their pockets, they never assumed this sweet young girl would rob them. 

At 21 she asked her father to let her train with the guard captain, explaining that she was a proud noblewoman and expertly fibbed that, Maker forbid, if she ever got overpowered by some commoner in the streets, she could defend herself. Bann Trevelyan, the proud, arrogant man he was, quickly sent for the guard captain. 

She kept her feet light, mastering twin daggers quickly, Victoria kept them on her at all times, a gift from her oldest sister, she treasured them so. 

As she got older, her father got more and more frustrated with her denying suitors, Victoria waving her hand in dismissal at each nobleman whom her father had hoped to give her to. Victoria had no Interest in becoming her mother, a proud woman made into some kind of accessory for a man who smelt of sweat and far too much cologne. She wanted to be a woman of the people, not someone who held her wealth over the heads of others. Her father would soon grow tired of it. 

That time came when Victoria attended a ball with her mother and father thrown by the Teyrn of Ostwick, an Elven servant had accidentally split some drink over the rim of her glass, red liquid ran over her hand, dripping onto the stone floor before her. She watched as the already pale Elven man paled, mint green eyes frozen on her soiled sleeve before words of apology immediately started spilling from his lips. The noblemen she had been half listening to went to put his hands on the poor servant in retaliation , but Victoria grabbed him by the fur on his garb and pushed him against a pillar, eyes a flame with anger as she ripped into the man for even thinking to harm someone for such a little mistake, brow furrowed and lips in a snarl. Once she let the startled suitor go and gently assured the fearful servant she wasn’t bothered by his mistake, she spat at the feet of the nobleman, storming through the crowd of silent Ostwick noble families. 

From then on, Victoria was known for her temper and ferocity, opposed to the motto of House Trevelyan that her father so prided himself on. She was the black sheep, as her mother told her. 

Modest in temper, bold in deed. 

Even so, Bann Trevelyan was furious. Accosting Victoria for her behaviour, which then turned Into a lecture, which then turned into vicious debate between father and daughter. Victoria snarled at her father about how he pushed his ideology on her and her siblings. He stormed away, swearing he’d make her serve the chantry as he did her siblings, leaving Victoria to angrily rant to her mother, who dutifully sat and held one of Victoria’s hand in both of hers, telling her of how Victoria was of something more than the chantry, and how she put Andraste to shame when she faced conflict. It made Victoria laugh, though Victoria did not know how true her mother’s words would be. 

On the day of her 31st birthday, when she was sent to the Temple of sacred ashes with her relatives for a Chantry Conclave. Her father told her the Maker would watch over her, with a stained smile, she held a snide remark about he maker back as she said her goodbyes, leaving Ostwick with fire in her eyes and her daggers strapped to her back. 

She awoke kneeing in a dark room, head throbbing with pain and wrists cuffed together. Her left hand emitting green light , dull pain shooting up her arm, her long hair draped over her shoulders as she struggled to clear her head. The door slammed open and her head snapped up, eyes adjusting to the barely lit doorway. She watched as two women walked in, circling her, she eyed the hooded woman until the seeker spoke next to her. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nicolas is my male Inquisitor that I wanted to include here bc he’s a doof I love him.


End file.
